Chapter Three –The Forgotten Heir
Alera stared at Kieran, blood roaring in her ears.
"What do you mean another heir?"
Kieran didn't blink. "I mean there's another child. Born of the same prophecy. Raised by the Order of Flame in secret. They believe he is the true key."
Alera stepped back. "You said nothing of this before."
"I didn't know until now. The Order has moved him to Dravenfall. They plan to crown him as the new god-king. To awaken the Ember Throne… by burning everything in their path."
Alera's hand moved protectively over her stomach. "And they'll kill ours to do it."
Kieran's silence was answer enough.
The room felt smaller, the air thicker. Flickering candlelight danced against the cracked stone walls, casting shadows that looked too much like claws.
"So this is what it's all about," she whispered. "It's not me they want. It's him."
"Yes," Kieran said. "And I won't let them have him."
Alera let out a bitter laugh. "You couldn't protect me before. Why should I believe you now?"
Kieran stepped closer. "Because I've already made the mistake of choosing power over love once. I won't do it again."
Something flickered in his voice. Not charm. Not manipulation.
Regret.
But it wasn't enough.
Alera turned her back to him, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Tell me everything. No more lies. No more secrets. Who is the other heir?"
Kieran nodded grimly.
Long ago, when the Codex of Sin was first discovered beneath the burning sands of Orell, two fates were written into it: the birth of twin legacies one of flame, one of shadow. Together, they could either save the realms… or ignite their end.
Most believed it was symbolic. Until the Order of Flame deciphered the truth.
Twins born of the royal line.
One was hidden in a temple.
The other… was never meant to survive.
But someone had intervened.
"A monk named Valdrik smuggled the other child into hiding," Kieran explained. "He raised the boy like a weapon. Trained him to believe he was the true flame. The chosen one."
"And now?"
"Now the Order believes it's time to crown him. And to do that, they'll destroy anything in his way."
Alera's eyes narrowed. "Including me. Including my child."
"Yes."
The conversation was interrupted by a sudden, deep rumble.
Alera's breath caught. "What was that?"
Before Kieran could answer, Cayle burst into the room, blood on his shirt and wildness in his eyes. "They're here."
"Who?" Kieran asked.
"Flame-born," Cayle spat. "The Order. They've found the safehouse. We've got maybe two minutes."
"Get her out," Kieran ordered.
"No," Alera said. "I fight."
"You don't understand," Cayle growled. "They brought a Scorcher."
Alera's heart sank.
A Scorcher was no ordinary mage. They were fire-walkers knights turned to flame, forged in ritual, fed by pain. Nearly unstoppable. Nearly.
"I'll handle it," Kieran said.
"No," Alera said again, voice fierce. "We fight together."
The tunnels shook as they moved.
Heat poured in waves down the corridor, drying the air until every breath felt like inhaling ash. Light blazed ahead too bright, too hot. A figure emerged, wrapped in glowing armor, skin cracked like burning coals, eyes white with holy fire.
The Scorcher.
"By order of the Flame," it roared, voice like a furnace, "deliver the harlot of shadows and the child of sin."
Alera stood tall, defiant. "You'll have to take him from my corpse."
The Scorcher raised its hand.
Flame surged forward.
Kieran stepped in front of her, his arms outstretched as a wall of darkness erupted around them. Fire collided with shadow, exploding in a blast of steam and raw energy. The tunnel shook. Stone cracked.
Cayle cursed. "This place is coming down!"
"Go!" Kieran shouted. "I'll hold him!"
"No!" Alera yelled.
But Cayle grabbed her arm, dragging her down a side passage. Kieran's face disappeared behind fire and shadow as the walls collapsed between them.
They emerged coughing, covered in ash and dust. Alera leaned against the wall, breath shallow, heart pounding.
"He'll die," she whispered.
Cayle didn't answer.
"Take me to someone who can help," she said. "Now."
He hesitated.
"Now."
An hour later, deep in the underlayers of the city, they arrived at the Hollow Hall a forgotten library-crypt filled with magic older than the gods.
Alera stepped into the center, her presence disturbing the runes carved into the air. Shelves spun on their own. Candles ignited. Books whispered.
An old woman stepped from the shadows, draped in velvet and bones.
"You should not be here, child of shadow," she croaked.
"I need your help, Mother Vess."
The crone's eyes narrowed. "I do not deal in favors."
"I have coin," Alera said. "And blood. Whichever speaks louder."
Mother Vess sniffed. "You're with child."
"Yes."
"The cursed one?"
"Chosen," Alera corrected.
A long silence.
Then the witch turned.
"Follow."
In the lower sanctum, Mother Vess pressed her hands to Alera's stomach.
Her eyes rolled white. Her body trembled.
When she pulled back, her voice was colder than ever.
"He is strong. Too strong."
"What do you mean?"
"Your child is not just the heir of prophecy. He is the one who will choose which prophecy comes true."
Alera's breath caught.
Mother Vess continued, "You must decide will he be raised in fire or shadow? In vengeance… or in love?"
Reader's Note: If you were Alera, would you raise your child to embrace power… or protect innocence? Let's talk in the comment section
Alera stood alone that night on the library tower's balcony, watching Dravenfall burn in the distance. The sky pulsed red. The city was tearing itself apart over a child not yet born.
Behind her, Cayle approached quietly.
"You know what comes next, don't you?" he said.
"Yes," she whispered. "A war of bloodlines."
"And?"
She turned, eyes hard. "Then let it begin."
Author's Note:
Who do you think the other heir really is? A villainor just another pawn like Alera's child?
Vote with a Power Stone if you're hooked, and leave your thoughts in the comments!
Don't forget to add to your library so you're the first to know when Chapter Four drops!